


No judgement, pure exhilaration.

by lia_bezdomny



Series: Find the power to devour -9 Days of Hannigram [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark Will Graham, Hannigram - Freeform, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, M/M, Murder Husbands, Some filler with plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 08:12:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11755680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lia_bezdomny/pseuds/lia_bezdomny
Summary: “Good evening, I would like to claim a body.” “And I'd like to climb the Rock, not gonna happen tonight, buddy.”---How jailed Will ended up in Quantico in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Did I hear you say, "Add new people because then, she has more time to figure out, what to do with this?". Well, too bad, because here is Frank. But he is kinda important at this point, so roll with it. Also Will shows up. 
> 
> We've reached the weird, folks. From here on, there is no turning back. 
> 
> And yes, the Vodka is strong in this one.

Wisconsin, Land of the Cheese, in a police station.

 

“Good evening, I would like to claim a body.” “And I'd like to climb the Rock, not gonna happen tonight, buddy.”

 

The woman at the desk, finally raises her eyes to acknowledge his existence, and of course does a double take. Frank is just glad that she swallowed that massive piece of processed meat beforehand. Fat was so hard to get out of silk.

 

There weren’t probably many Goths in Wisconsin and certainly not in a town were one bar fight could busy the whole police force. They didn't even bother to install security cameras. Mildred, as her name tag informs him, still stares but Frank doesn't blame her. The stitching is after all exquisite.

 

“Uhm, you want to...” “Claim a body. A specific one, this is not a hobby of mine. Tall, blonde, some say handsome, with rather distinctive scars.” She tears her eyes away from the waistcoat and seems to remember her job.

 

“Oh, yes, we've had a body that was in the possession of someone... that is going to be shipped out for evidence, first thing in the morning.” Mildred has no idea how the chain of command works apparently. Good for Frank, very bad for her retirement plan.

 

“Well, lucky you, I'm here to take that off your hands. Low key, given all the fuzz, you understand.” He shouldn't have smiled at her because now she get suspicious and puts her guard back up.

“I'm sorry, but without the proper paperwork, there is nothing I can do for you.” Frank sighs. This was a job for Doc. Since he was exactly what his name implied, bullshitting people into accepting anything, regardless of how ridiculous it sounded, was his bread and butter. Well, desperate times, desperate measures.

 

“I understand, madame. And I'm sorry.” He should have started with the knock out spray. Small talk was never his thing. After making sure that Mildred was out properly, his focus shifts back to his actual assignment.

“Now then, where do you keep the stiffs in this hick town?”

 

It takes him about 15 minutes to find the makeshift morgue, mostly because he made a b-line for the evidence locker and altered some files on Mildred's computer. The first two cold chambers are empty but three hosts the body he was looking for.

 

“There you are. Let's see how good our resident physician truly is.”

Doc made it clear that his special re-animator potion – and of course that dork made it green – didn't need to be injected. But Frank feels entitled to some fun after flying coach. So he searches for a syringe and just stabs the body right in the heart, “Pulp Fiction” - style.

 

“Rise and shine, you piece of shit.”

After a few seconds, it starts to convulse and then to rid itself from excess fluids. Frank's guess is formaldehyde or maybe Trump vodka. Anyway, the room reeks now, and he will probably not be able to get the stench out of his clothes. They should have tested it more thoroughly but no one felt in the mood to be the Guinea pig for Doc anymore, since the incident with the monk.

 

“It is alive! ALLLIIIVVVEEE!”

Yes, it was cheesy but when would he ever get another chance to play Frankenstein? As soon as the shaking stops, two eyes, now unclouded, focus on him and then Frank can sees the rage. But still, the laughter is hard to hold back, so he gives up after a curtesy try.

A mistake or an underestimation of Doc's talents because in mere seconds, two hands are wrapped around his throat and he is lifted into the air.

 

“It's me you maniac!” “I know.” The pressure on his throat intensifies and Frank starts to lose conscience. _That's what he gets for helping out a friend!_ He knows what his assailant wants to hear and though it pains him, they have to get going:

 

“Okay. You win!”

His pride is more hurt than his back when he gets dropped to the ground. Yes, this would definitely have been a job for Doc. Since the former corpse now gives him a sardonic smile, it is apparent, that the bastard had regained his senses. _Fucking asshole_.

 

“Where's Will?” “How about a _Damn, Frank! Thanks for resurrecting me! You're the best!_ \- first?”

“Don't push your luck.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My dearest Will, I'm sorry but plans have changed. But you won't be disappointed. I'm eager to see you. Hannibal.”  
> \---  
> Yep, Will is still in this story.

Meanwhile in Corsica

Approximately three hours after Will received Hannibal's phone call, he is picked up by an old Renault with three wheels and driven to a private airfield. Without any pleasantries, his bag is loaded into the two seater and nothing is spoken until they've reached their destination.

Now the car is an oldtimer, a Mercedes limousine and he at least gets a slight bow from the driver, alongside a thick envelope with Hannibal's handwriting on it. He takes his seat in the back of the car, pockets the burner phone and the new passport and reads the note:

_“My dearest Will, I'm sorry but plans have changed. But you won't be disappointed. I'm eager to see you. Hannibal.”_

Will would bet anything, that there are at least 15 of those envelopes scattered around Corsica, for every possible outcome. From _“Congratulations”_ to _“Nice try”_ , obviously eloquently worded and with the appropriate automobile. And of course, he is intrigued:

A man with his face going down for his crimes. He lets his gift run wild for a few moments and imagines the scenario:

The public would deem his actions just. After all, he rid the world of a bunch of European pedophiles. And he, a poor, manipulated, fragile man simply snapped, because he cared too much. The press would have a field day with it. Maybe that would be the thing that finally pops that giant vein on Jack's forehead.

He grins and helps himself to a glass of his favourite bourbon, provided by Hannibal. His love knows him too well.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What kind of name is Hannibal?” “I don't think you are the one to judge, when it comes to family names, mon ami.”
> 
> \---  
> Frank just can't catch a break. Also some exposition.

They pull out of the parking lot and Frank still tries to reset his nose. The punch didn't came unexpected but was way harder than he anticipated. “ _Resurrection_ ” was a fickle thing. 

 

“Maybe I should...” It wasn't the most intimidating death glare he ever received but pretty close, so Frank let's him take drive.

 

“Again.” He already told him the story and he's not really in the mood to be the punching bag again but he knows, the choice is not his. When the bone finally snaps back into the right place, he is ready to have this conversation again.

“Will is currently held at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, because he got into a bar fight. You were stuck in customs because Arsenal was more important, than claim your coffin beforehand. They shipped you to the police station because Wendell got an alarm and my nose doesn't even hurt, thank you for asking.” There is no need to check, he can practically feel two eyes burning into his skull. _What was he, the exposition fairy?_

 

Frank rubs his temple and really contemplates his life choices before continuing:

“Some shit went down, while you two were on your path of enlightenment-hippie-trip in Timbuktu. Apparently Will looks exactly like someone associated with the FBI's Most Wanted list. So instead of contacting you and give away your location, we just redirected your flights, so you would stay under the radar. And by we, I mean Wendell and his other cave trolls.”

 

“The FBI.” “Yes.” He glances at him for a few seconds and Frank immediately knows what his friend is up to. So to save both of them a speech, he grabs the wheel and makes the car switch lanes. Thankfully, the road is empty.

“No. I know what you are thinking but this isn't a “Big, damn heroes” - moment. Doc and I will handle this and you keep your distance.” He has to be assertive now and responsible, for the greater good. Two of the three things he loathes, only topped by chastitiy. Fuck that shit sideways. 

 

 

“They have Will! How can I stay out of this?!” “Because this  ugly mug, will get you shot at sight.” To prove his point, he pulls up a picture on his tablet. The second time that night, he receives a double take.

 

“What kind of name is Hannibal?” “I don't think you are the one to judge, when it comes to family names, mon ami.”

 

 


End file.
